


Fifty Metres of John Watson

by kikkomanwrites



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, dick humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 18:57:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikkomanwrites/pseuds/kikkomanwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is a superhero - that fights with his phallus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fifty Metres of John Watson

John is a superhero. In his youth, he saved many cats stuck in trees, rescued children in burning houses, helped old ladies cross the street in his town – all with the stretchy, incredible power of his fifty-meter-long penis.  
In his Afghanistan tour, he used the incredible elastic power of his member to hold wounds closed, as well as grabbing and slapping militants with the naked force of his naked weapon.  
John was unstoppable to the closed hearts of men and women, as well as the enemies he faced, bolstered by the power of his unstoppable, elastic dick.  
-  
John was amazed at Sherlock’s quick, penetrating deductions, but he was truly amazed by his last statement, “But, you have a large wrapping around your hips, around five-meters long and one-inch thick. I’m guessing that its bandages from your tour in Afghanistan.”  
“Amazing!” John was aroused by the brilliance and sense of danger the young detective brought with him, as well as a shocking fear that the tall, dark, and bishonen man noticed his secret – his unrelenting, flexible phallus.  
It seemed like the detective was barking up the wrong tree, so John’s secret meat wand was still clandestine.  
-  
“You’re John Watson,” The wanker in his suit knew his name and as he continued on his monologue of things that no one should know except for stalkers, and John Watson was a perfectly normal man without stalkers.  
“And you have a five-meter penis that is stretchy, durable, and can shoot bullets or sticky sprays of semen. It can be controlled by your mind and can do various tasks for you.”  
“How do you know that?” The man smiled eerily. John kept it a secret and most people didn’t notice it. The people who did were rational, logical persons.  
“You don’t need to know.”  
John was fuming at that point and downright exploding at the smarmy bastard’s attempt to bribe him – he wasn’t a bribable friend, especially to someone who needed a friend.  
-  
John ran quickly to the building, where Sherlock was facing his own possible self-inflicted doom. His hose clenched around his sides in panic, like a Japanese tentacle monster and his victim. His abs galloped with the speed of Shadowfax – which were not related to Game of Shadows, where a lesser un-British person played Sherlock and the Doctor did not have a sexy, beautiful meat rod like our hero’s.  
He ran up the stairs, but to his dismay – he had barked up the wrong tree. Sherlock was going to die.  
He stroked himself to completion and shot his load of his man-yogurt through the window, through the air, through another window, through more air, and finally thrusting into the old cabbies’ shoulder. The old man collapsed.  
Sherlock turned and saw John – deflating pecker in hand.  
John ran.  
-  
“Nice shooting skills, Dr. Watson.” John let out a breath, relieved that Sherlock hadn’t realized the truth about his elongated, pink-helmeted warrior of death and destruction.  
His eyes were a bit blank, but at least he wasn’t kicked out of his apartment.  
-  
“No! Sarah!” John shouted. He wrenched his moneymaker from his trousers, fondling and rubbing it until it was stiff like Molly’s corpses. He then took his honeypot and aimed it at the dropping sandbag – shooting his sour-cream at the rope.  
He then redirected his throbbing manhood towards the Chinese triad smugglers and shot hot pearlescent sperms at them, knocking them flat onto the dirt floor.  
He heard Sherlock untying Sarah and blanked out – as he ordered his prick to retreat back into the safety of his pants.  
-  
“I don’t think we should go further. John, you’re a great person and I really saw myself starting a family with you if we went farther-“  
“I know.”  
“I’m sorry. It’s just I know you’ll eventually want to pierce my beautiful castle with your battering ram, but it’s not safe and I’d rather not go into the hospital for injuries because I had sex with someone with a fifty-meter dick.” She bluntly said. John felt his heart break from the strength and directness of these words.  
As John left the premises, he thought to himself that he should maybe go for men next time. He thought of Sherlock, but ruthlessly crushed those treacherous, titillating thoughts.  
-  
‘At least, they didn’t see it,’ John stood bitterly in the cold night, warmed only by his pants and the heavy bomb jacket.  
He droned, “Stop his heart,” to a shocked Sherlock, but finally before he was forced to say more, Moriarty appeared – first a dark shadow on the edge of the pool, then a pale man.  
Sherlock and Moriarty bantered for a bit. While they showed off their masculine egos, John furtively pleasured himself to completion, shooting and killing all of the snipers in the area.  
He then ran forward and penetrated Moriarty in his left thigh. He drew his member back out and aimed it threateningly at any remaining snipers.  
A corny tune began playing. Moriarty took out his phone and upon hearing the message, limped away. For plot reasons, nothing happened.  
This time Watson was virtually helpless and Sherlock had seen his fantastic, elastic dick. He was screwed in terms of his life and his sex life – which in fanfiction like this was basically the same.  
Instead Sherlock strode to him and simply undressed Watson of the bomb jacket like a lover slowly divesting of his romantic partner’s clothing. Sherlock’s eyes were a bit empty as he did the action, but John was simply glad that he was removing the bomb jacket.  
He did not speak of John’s magical wand and it slithered back into John’s pants. The two, exhausted from their wild night, retreated back home.  
-  
“I keep on thinking that you have a ridiculously long phallus, but that’s just simply impossible,” Sherlock stared into John’s eyes, “Why are you so difficult for me to solve?”  
It took him this long to figure it out?  
“I keep on seeing flashbacks! You shot the cabbie with a gun, got rid of the triads with fancy footwork… what’s the truth?”  
John felt divided, but he had to do this. This was someone he loved, who needed to know the truth.  
“Your memories are right. I have-“  
-  
John ran, not for his life, but for Sherlock’s. His galloping abs beat his chest as he ran towards the building that held Sherlock’s fate.  
-  
“Sherlock, grab my dick!” John’s words were frantic, rushed, as he dangled his ridiculous fifty-meter member over the building.  
“Huh”?” Sherlock grabbed the ridiculously phallus tightly. It was somewhat rough under his smooth hands, but he clutched onto it as John slowly pulled him up over the rafters and to the roof of the building.  
“Thank you, John. You’ve saved me with that so many times,” He said, “Let’s go back home.”  
“I can’t,” John’s reply was explainable once Sherlock saw his hard member, sticking out like the radio antennae of a car, except it was thrice its size.  
“Well, we’ll solve that problem first.”  
For the first time in his life, John felt pleasure at having a fifty-meter penis.  
-  
Fin.


End file.
